Paulo's Last Ride
by ketchupbean
Summary: A Modern-day myth of Apollo and his son Phaeton set in New York.


There once lived a beautiful girl named Chloe who attracted the attention of a famous horse jockey, whose name was Henry, the most successful horse racer of his time. Everyone said his horse ran like the wind and its hooves sped Henry along the track like the sun. He won thousands of dollars everyday and spent much more, and though he was much loved by others, he had only eyes for Chloe. Together they soon had a son, a small boy of fair face named Paulo and lived for a while in happiness. But Henry soon had to leave, to run the races up in Brooklyn, and he left his small family.  
As Paulo grew up, Chloe would bring him pictures of his father and pamphlets that featured him. "This is your father," she told him, "The famous Henry is your father and you are his son. You are destined for great things like he has done. No one can beat him, and one day he shall come and take us to join him." So often did Paulo's mother tell him this and lavish praise on his father, that Paulo grew conceited and vain. At school he would brag and boast of his father.  
"My father is the famous Henry. When I grow up, I shall become a famous horse jockey too. I shall be rich and own millions of factories all over. Everyone of you will work there for me."  
Soon, his friends became tired of his boasts. They were all poor and they did not see what wealth Paulo had over them. One day, when Paulo began his long list of things he would do when he became famous, one of the boys spoke up and asked: "Paulo, how do you know these things? I do not see your father ever at your house; he never picks you up from school. What proof do you have that you even have a father?"  
All Paulo could say in return was, "My mother told me."  
What jeers he received from that! All of the kids laughed and shouted. "His mother told him, his mother told him!" they cried and snickered until tears ran down their faces.  
Embarrassed, Paulo ran home and confronted his mother. "Mother, if Henry really is my father, then please gives me some proof. All the kids laugh at me when I tell them; they do not believe me. Give me something so that I may know I am his son." And his mother answered, "I promise that he is your father, but since you must have evidence, then go find him and ask him. He lives in the east a long journey from here."  
For many weeks, Paulo traveled. He hopped on trains and walked through the streets. He crossed rivers and bridges and finally reached his father's house at the first light of dawn.  
His father's house was magnificent! Everything glittered and shined, as if the sun shone from within.  
Inside the house, he found his father, sitting at a long table eating breakfast. Gladdened by the sight of his only son, Paulo's father, Henry, leapt from the table and embraced his son.  
"I am overjoyed that you have come to me, Paulo. For so long I have not seen you. What a fine boy you have grown into." Henry said to him.  
"Father," Paulo replied, "I am worthy to be your son, for you are surely the best jockey in all of New York, but if I am your son, then I need proof. All the other boys at school laugh at me when I say that you are my father give me something that will show them that you are."  
Concerned, Henry knelt beside his son and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I swear by anything, Paulo, that whatever I have to give is yours. Just name it. Nothing is too good for my son."  
"I want to ride your horse in the race tomorrow."  
At these words, Henry frowned and deep lines furrowed on his face. "If I could take back that promise, I would Paulo, I would. To ride my horse is dangerous. He is fast and swift. I beg of you, my son, take back your words. Surely you would want something else? A trophy? Some money?"  
Resolutely Paulo shook his head. "No, father. I want only this."  
Seeing that his son was resolute, Henry conceded and the next day, father and son arrived at the racetrack and made ready in Henry's stall. Henry's horse, a sleek Arabian, snorted impatiently as the pair stood beside him.  
"Remember Paulo," instructed Henry carefully, "Keep your hands on the reigns and your legs close to the horse's body. The race is long and wide and you must keep to the center path. If you go too far to the sides, you will be pushed out. Don't get too near the fence or your horse will jump and run among the crowd. The last part of the race descends sharply and requires the most skill."  
Impatiently Paulo listened to his father, his hands itching for the reigns. All his friends were in the crowd. Today was the day that he would show them. His father helped his up to the horse and then left to watch from the sidelines.  
With a lurch, the gates swung open and Paulo's horse shot off. Enthusiastic, Paulo gazed at the crowd, the faces whipping by and melting into one another.  
Soon, however, Paulo noticed that his horse was veering into the fence, smashing up against it and frightening the crowd that stood behind it. Gritting his teeth, he leaned away and pulled sharply on the reigns, but the horse noticed the lighter weight upon his back and the small hands that pulled weakly on his bridle and took no notice.  
Frightened, Paulo tried to control the horse, he screamed at it, the wind tearing his words away. Around and around the track the horse raced, heedless of the other runners, heedless of the fence. With a bound it cleared the gates and trampled through the packed crowd, heads disappearing beneath its hoofs like watermelons. Paulo looked down from his high perch and stared at the carnage below him. The horse sprinted past the racetrack grounds and galloped along the street. People were bowled over; shop carts overturned, cars swerved to miss them and hit lampposts and other cars. Terrified Paulo hung on. What could he do? The horse no longer obeyed him.  
It was then that a policeman, near the corner of 78th, saw the carnage that Paulo and his horse were wrecking. He saw the carts overturned, the people hurt, and he drew his gun from its holster. With a shaking hand that was steadied only by necessity, the policeman aimed and fired.  
It struck the boy head on, and Paulo was thrown from the horse. His body tumbled onto the street, his crimson wound staining the dark road. The horse galloped on, mindless of its missing rider, and disappeared from view as it followed the street westward. 


End file.
